Eric Brooks

Publish ready, coming soon, excerpt below.

Vixen’s Notebook The Panty Sniffer – Part One Under copyright © to X Project Publishing I am desperate for a release having been denied by my cruel absolutely stunning girlfriend, for weeks. In truth, girlfriend was not a term of art, not anymore, things between us, have evolved. Slowly, painstakingly, she has manipulated and seduced me into submitting to her. I had not been fully cognizant of any of this, not until it was far too late, and my focus right now, while she is showering, is seeing if I can quietly sneak into her bedroom. Her inner sanctuary, a room of feminine seduction and power, now forbidden to me, and take hold of her incredibly sexy and very sheer panties, discarded on her plush bed, bring them to my face and inhale her essence. If I get caught there will be hell to pay but I am so worked up from her teasing these past weeks that I am insane with lust for even the slightest glimpse of her, or taste of her essence. My cock rages with passion and neglect. I am not thinking straight. I am naked and on my knees and I am sneakily peering around the door frame to the entrance to her bedroom to see if I can get away with this transgression. I need something, anything, my cock rages with need. In truth I had been lurking just out of sight, down the hallway, for some time now as I had come to know her schedule well. When she awakes in the morning, when she expects me to serve her coffee in bed, what time she leaves for work, but, I also know she likes to take a shower in the evening after work, and thus, right on schedule I have slowly crawled, silent as a mouse, to the entrance to her bedroom. Dare I risk it? The bathroom door clicks shut. The sound cuts through the apartment's silence, a tiny, decisive punctuation mark. Then, the hiss of the shower starts, a steady, percussive thrum of water against porcelain. My opportunity. A window, measured in minutes, perhaps even seconds if I don’t dare it soon. Every nerve in my body feels live, raw, humming with a tension that has coiled tight in my gut for weeks. It's a physical ache, a constant, throbbing reminder of her rules, her boundaries, her exquisite, maddening control. My knees press into the cool hardwood of the hallway. The floor's grain digs in, a minor discomfort lost in the overwhelming static of my need. From here, I can see a sliver of her sanctuary. The bed is a landscape of cream-colored silk and soft pink shadows. And there, lying near the edge, a delicate scrap of black lace. A promise. A nothing of sheer fabric, exposing far more than it hid. A ghost of her. My gaze is fixed, my breath held hostage in my chest. The lace looks impossibly fine, like a dark spider's web, and the memory of how it hugged her hips this morning, how the sheer fabric suggested, implied what lay beneath, sends a jolt straight to my groin. My cock, heavy and neglected, twitches against my thigh, a silent, desperate plea. She will whip me with that nasty cock whip if she catches me. The thought of that cruel whip scarring my back and balls, scares me, I have never felt such pain. My cock and balls were raw and red for days afterwards. She had punished me for not assuming my ‘Proper Position’ when she arrived home from work one evening. As she has trained me, to assume my proper position involves crawling very quickly, scampering to her feet, and then pressing my lips in devotion to the toe of her stiletto heel. She always wears stilettos, and I have been driven insane with lust from how she moves and walks in high heels since the day I met her. She is sexy as hell, she knows it and she knows exactly how to use it to get precisely what she wants. I really want to smell her panties, I can see them, right there on her bed, oh god, and taste her too! The risk is truly insane, but my ability to assess such things is severely hampered. My brain is lizard, driven by pure need and instinct. Sexual gratification had clawed itself with bloody fingers right to the top of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.